Common Sense Is Not Authorised

I knew that Husband was expecting some rims via UPS for his latest wheel-building gig. That usually means that between 1 and 2 I can steel myself for the doorbell and two crazedly-barking dogs. So around 9:30 I decided I’d take my shower. And that’s when UPS decided to come by with the rims, and that’s when I missed signing for the rims.

The story gets longer and more complicated, but the end result was that I felt guilty. So when husband (who works very near to the UPS center) had to drive BACK to the UPS Center to pick up his rims at 7:00, I figured I should at least ride along to keep him company.

He was already peeved, because he went over straight after work, about 5:45, and was told to “come back at 7:00″ for his package. So we got there at 5 til 7:00. He went in and I waited. Feeling like utter cack, of course. After about 10 minutes I hauled my pitiful slag into the office. We were all standing around because the packages had to come from The Hub.

After about 15 minutes I asked how far the hub was.

IT WAS 25 YARDS AWAY! WE COULD WALK THERE ALMOST EFFORTLESSLY! WE COULD SEE THE BULDING! WE COULD SEE OUR PACKAGES IN THE BUILDING! WE COULD SEE THE PEOPLE WHO WERE SUPPOSED TO BE BRINGING OUR PACKAGES TO US ON BREAK IN THE BUILDING!

I asked the UPS man what we were waiting on. He explained that we had to wait for “The Truck” to bring all the packages. It was apparently a very special truck because you could only drive it if you were authorised.

(I’m sorry this post is so poorly written. I just have a hard time recounting all of this without laughing, crying or stabbing myself in the thigh repeatedly out of frustration.)

We ended up waiting about 40 minutes. The desk people grew progessively more terrified of me as I stood laughing maniacally in their office, and pointing at the far-distant hub. I grew progressively more manaical as we overheard phone calls about Authorised Eric (the only man who can Drive The Truck) getting to work late, the other members of his team on break, etc.

Finally, at 7:43, in comes Authorised Eric with a dolly full of packages. The frightened desk people asked me if I “still wanted to talk to him”.

“You betcha I Do!” (Kat passing a kidney stone on PMS waiting at UPS is some sort of terror that should not be unleashed on the world. I promise you that.)

Authorised Eric tried to explain to me that “be here at 7:00″ actually means “Be here between 7:00 and 8:00, and whenever the person who is authorised to drive The Truck gets here is when your package will get here.”

I told him that I didn’t really care and that all I wanted him to do was go out, get my package and put it in my hands.

So we get the package.

On our way out we then pass the mysterious Truck which can only be driven by certain people.

it was a minivan.

I had pictured some giant thing with a jillion wheels and gears and clutches in odd places. The awe and reverence the counterman showed for Truck Driving Authorisation lead me to believe that it was some special, magical vehicle with superextrafabulous transmissions.

And the worst of it is knowing that the union that established the rules prohibiting anyone but the Grand Poobah of minivan driving from bringing our package to us is the same union that will prevent anyone from having to suffer any consequences for providing blatantly craptacular customer service.

Writers’ Advice

"Read, read, read. Read everything -- trash, classics, good and bad, and see how they do it. Just like a carpenter who works as an apprentice and studies the master. Read! You'll absorb it.
Then write. If it's good, you'll find out. If it's not, throw it out of the window."
— William Faulkner